


A Respite in the Past

by Emriel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Magic, Established Relationship, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 06:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21795047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emriel/pseuds/Emriel
Summary: The Dark Lord is in need of a break and drags his beloved Harry and some of his rather annoyed friends on a little side trip.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 14
Kudos: 117





	A Respite in the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Not too dark. Something for myself. Not beta read. As always.

It was a lonely island.

Warm humid ocean breeze beat against his face that was salty as they say it should be. And dipping his feet down into the lapping waves was a treat that he could not truly understand the simplicity of.

It just came and went, receding then coming back with a white foamy splash.

The sun was burning the back of his neck as he turned around, the sky a serene blue. With clouds around him like dashed lines in the horizon.

“Come on, Potter. There’s work to be done,” Came a loud voice from the button of his white button down shirt.

It wasn’t even a good hour and his ability to enjoy nature was already taken away.

Harry made a mock salute and left the beach side to set up a camp, somewhere atop a cliff where a tent was set up.

How he ended up here was a mystery even to him for one moment, he was sleeping inside his chambers, and the next he was dragged to the throne room with nothing but his sleeping clothes. Breakfast was a simple affair of croissants and coffee.

Then, mass apparition to one country after another until they landed in that deserted island.

Inside the tent there was a haggard looking Hermione, Draco, and an expectant Tom Riddle who held out one hand towards him as always.

“Harry… you’ve taken your time.” red eyes raking up and down at him with obvious approval. As if it wasn’t already a secret that he wasn’t wearing the man’s shirt.

The Minister of Magic slash Dark Lord didn’t often take vacations or perhaps this was merely an excuse to get out of office. And of course, since he could not convince Harry to cooperate, Harry thought his friends were brought as hostages to ensure that he wouldn’t misbehave. The relationship he had with Tom wasn’t the conventional sort, it was one where he’d rather run away one moment, and two craving contact the next.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that they were seeing each other but many still viewed it as scandalous given their rather controversial past.

“Ah, that crease on your forehead wouldn’t do at all, Harry. You’re better suited with a smile.”

And Harry pursed his lips instead, looking away. “So, we’re in a tropical island. Are we going on cruising next? What’s the catch?”

Hermione made a move to shake her head, as if mentally telling him that now was not the time to pick a fight.

Well, Harry just glared right back at her. Draco saying “work has to be done” was a clue.

Tom Riddle laughed, drawing up a hand in the air as a map of the vicinity sprung up within their midst.

“We’re here to examine ancient sacrificial rites. Many centuries ago, humans have sacrificed their children to the gods around this area. Muggle archeologists found it but have yet figured out the real truth.” Tom smiled. “The primitive people knew that ley lines of magic are equally dependent on the sacrifices of the earth. And it runs across this region, the same way the wind flows. And we’re simply here to learn from them, and provide an offering of sorts.”

Then, Tom handed him a mug of firewhisky which Harry drank without asking much at this point.

“You my dear, since you share the same magical core as me, you will be my conduit. It shouldn’t hurt. Much. We will simply tap into the earth, give it a blessing, and reap a bit of the benefits along the way.” Tom said, his eyes rather eager.

Hermione sighed at this, “It’s painful, My Lord, I’ve read about it, surely there’s no other way?”

Tom smiled, “You can withstand a little bit of pain for me, won’t you, Harry?”

Harry blinked innocent green eyes, a phantom image of a whip and a rather dark dungeon, with chains and leather coming up in his mind’s eye. If he blushed at this thought, he would later deny it.

“Yes.”

Tom grinned, “Now, touch the portkey.”

* * *

One moment, they were inside the sunlit tent, after which they were inside a cave, with writings that seemed indecipherable to all of them, but the Dark Lord studied them with a knowing eye.

Harry was sure if Hogwarts would sort the man for another time, he would land himself in Ravenclaw what with his thirst for more and more knowledge.

Hermione coughed, “Harry, these are for you.”

He was handed a white dress that was semi translucent.

In the meantime, Ron was arguing with Draco as they started lighting up the chamber with suspended torches.

“You expect me to change into this?” Harry asked, and Tom tilted his head, “You agreed to be the sacrifice, so you’ll also have to dress up as one.”

Hermione tied her hair back in a ponytail and rolled her eyes, “I’ve seen you naked so there’s no need to be so shy. At least you’re not playing the drums". With this, Hermione took out a weird looking drum made of animal bones from her satchel.

Harry looked at Tom for an explanation but Tom merely smirked at him, “Would you rather I strip you off your clothes?”

At the pointed look, Harry shook his head and said, “Right.” Harry harrumphed and sighed, “But really, where are we? What are we even doing? You brought us to this deserted island… and now you want me to dress up? Will you put powder on my face and paint my lips red?”

Hermione grumbled, "Don't give him anymore ideas, Harry."

“We're in the Gulf of Tunis.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up, “I had a feeling it would be Carthage. Human sacrifice always existed in the past, primitive life believed in different gods and goddesses, and those that have communed with them, or those that claimed to have talked to them… demanded sacrifices. And men back then were savage, and rather barbaric, so…”

Tom Riddle laughed, “The less educated a population is, the less educated their interpretation of a message. If a god asks for human sacrifice, in the olden times, they would usually answer with horrible things like killing the firstborn, all the male children, all of my tribe… for the promise of more power or understanding, and yet it only led to the culling of a population.”

Hermione carried her drums and conjured herself a chair, “In some ways it was imperative to kill the masses. Diseases which made people sick were thought to have no cure, and so people killed each other, which then by chance stopped the spread of certain things. When you reduce a population, resources also become more plentiful for those that lived in the area, but to those with magic, this was simply not a problem, more like a nuisance and those of us in the past have used it to their advantage...”

“Like Wizards,” Tom glanced at Hermione with intrigue.

"Or ways to gain power. Muggle politics."

"And I thought you were a muggle lover, Hermione."

Harry stepped on the Dark Lord's foot, as if in warning. Tom merely placed his hand on the boy's chin, downwards to his throat, watching Harry's eyes dilate in response. Voldemort licked his lips as Hermione was forced to look down.

“It’s not a secret, My Lord. I’m merely stating a fact.” Then, Hermione levitated the chair and the drums without using any incantation. Harry felt minor irritation from the Dark Lord who surprisingly let it go.

Voldemort's eyes darkened, “It is the truth. There have been Wizards who convinced muggles that they were gods, and that many of us in the past have used it to our advantage. Acquiring wealth, land, resources, estates, knowledge, power, to kill off competition before it even occurred. Or ward of threat. Murder. Sacrifice. There is a very thin line between the two. And yet, we still do these rituals even until now, sacrificial ones of such bizarre nature. There are still missing pieces of the puzzle. That we do things that show a certain desirable result without fully understanding the process of how it occurs is how _ magic _ is mostly understood by those who do not have it or cannot care to learn it.”

“You’ve read my mind, My Lord…”

Lord Voldemort laughed at this, “No, we merely share the same opinion in this matter, Ms Granger.”

And Harry took off the white shirt, and soon his bottoms.

Tom was eyeing Harry who shivered when the man laid a kiss on his shoulder and bit it lightly, swiping a tongue, tasting the salt on the skin. “Ah… stop that, Tom. You know I hate it when you...”

“Stop? You’re slated to be my consort. Surely an innocent peck shouldn’t make you blush? You’re hardly a virgin,” and with this, the man turned him around and kissed him.

Hermione had the decency to turn away and sighed to herself, used to the antics of Harry and the Dark Lord of all people, she coughed, “My Lord, I believe Ron and Draco have finished lighting up the temple.”

Harry now clad in a shameful piece of dress that showed the clear contours of his body just wanted to disappear but Lord Voldemort simply hugged him from behind, asking, “How are your dancing skills?”

Ron laughed at this and looked sick afterwards, “Forgive me for laughing, my Lord.”

And Harry glared at Ron and wrestled himself out of the embrace. The incessant teasing was so different from the Lord Voldemort of the past who would crucio him and hang him up in the dungeons to torture. He wasn’t sure which was a better alternative. A man who was always angry and seething at him, or this sane version of Voldemort…? after he took it upon himself to absorb the rest of his horcruxes and became. Mortal again. Or as mortal one can be when he had ways to preserve his immortality.

“Why?”

“You are to dance on that rock slab in the middle while I perform the necessary chanting, Draco and Ron will carve out runes, whilst Hermione will perform the beat.” Tom stated the matter of fact.

Harry sighed, “I don’t know how to dance.”

Tom merely smiled, “I am told that people who have performed this type of ritual in the past have learned to dance with the music all on their own. Dance as you will and pretend we are not here to watch you.”

Harry had a very tightly pinched look on his face and said, “fine.”

* * *

At the back, two men were still bickering.

“Are we really doing this?” Ron asked.

“You’re a pureblood and you seem to not know the full weight of ritual don’t you, Weasley?”

“At least there are no spiders here.”

“I saw one, awhile ago.”

Ron was horrified and shaking, “Are there more of them…”

Draco shook his head, “There are many ways to protect yourselves from spiders. I simply cannot understand your fear of them.”

* * *

With some chalk, blood, and knife etchings, made by Draco and Ron, the Dark Lord clapped his hands.

Harry, barefoot, stepped on the stone slab that looked like an ancient stage, being raised and all. On his forehead were golden jewels and to complete the ensemble, Voldemort had him wear golden bangles on his feet and hands.

“What difference does it do?”

“You simply look more attractive to me. And _ others _. A sacrifice, traditionally had to look the part.”

He wondered if the chamber they were in was carved with human labor, or was it made with magic? Not a lot of knowledge was preserved of the old world, back when muggles and wizards still coexisted. Much of it was lost with history and Voldemort was one of the very few who knew anything about it.

Some time ago, many centuries ago, someone perhaps did the same thing. Danced upon the very same rocks and thought of ways to appease “gods” and decided to sacrifice people.

“Why dance?”

Tom held out his wand higher, and pointed it at Harry, “Dancing is about as good as a sacrifice as killing another. And perhaps that living always had a better cost to death.”

Hermione picked up a bone that looked as if it came from a human arm and began tapping on the drum.

And Harry heard something.

A voice. From the void.

An answering chorus.

Was he meeting a God for the first time?

“_ Silly Child.” _

And before he knew it, he was raising his hands upwards. With tip of his feet extended outwards, and his left arm extending to a bow.

Voldemort began chanting in a number of languages. Gaelic, Latin, and Aramaic.

The chambers lit up, as overhead, the clouds parted, and it was as if the sun began to light up the slab in which Harry was currently dancing at. He thought the cave had no opening and was truly dark, but somehow light seeped through.

Or rocks have moved themselves slowly, exposing the sliver of light.

At this point, Harry merely surrendered himself to the music, that rose up around him. The sound that carried higher.

And the sudden silence that followed. His body was guided by the music, as if a puppet being led along, until he learned to do it by himself.

There was joy in it, and fear as well, just like with anything in magic, something that was intrinsically new was something he was initially afraid of.

But just like flying, dancing for a ritual like this with his friends watching in the background and the man he might just happen to love. He felt alright.

So he danced.

Until his feet bled.

And Harry looked upwards, knowing that this is an offering, to whatever it was that resided in the air. To the earth that held the tiny bit of magic that they used in their daily lives, to themselves.

A.

Breath.

Of Connection.

“Hah.”

With hands extended on either side of him, he twirled and landed on the center of the stage with his back bent.

The bangles on his wrist and ankles rang whenever he moved. And it answered the beat of the drums.

He could feel the air, rising. As if it had held form around him, and it was warm, like an embrace he never realized was there.

And when he knelt, there was pain, as if liquid electricity coursed through him, and as he reached upwards, he floated.

Suspended.

He saw for a brief measure of time, the suffering, laughter, and love of what caused the people of the past to do that which they have done.

And the inability to change the past as too many were sacrificed for things they had no real understanding of. And the disappointment, and the irony.

That it was perhaps because of them, that magic was so rich.

He began glowing, and all he could hear as he sat suspended was the Dark Lord’s voice.

And the steady. Almost disappearing sound of drums.

* * *

Harry felt as if he was boneless after which and had to be apparated back into the castle. Etched along his body were ancient writings.

A message that the Dark Lord had his followers copying. The Dark Lord was full with adoration for the ritual succeeded.

Meanwhile, Hermione, Draco and Ron looked as if they have drank copious amounts of alcohol, their body unable to handle the amount of energy poured back to them by magic. Slurring their speech, shaking every moment they moved and laughing to themselves, they looked like fools.

He had them dismissed but each with a healer should something happen.

To his soul who was truly a “chosen one,” he could only marvel. The boy sat in their shared bed, looking like a ghost with blood drained out of him.

The child was stupidly naive, and he, unfailingly manipulative. The one who took the greatest benefit of the ritual was Harry himself and by extension, him.

To a house elf that he summoned, he ordered, “prepare a tower of chocolates, a box of scones, and a large cake...”

As the seventh month ends. He might as well give the boy cake.

For now, he was content to gaze at the adorable thing. He wondered how many ways he can push the boy to do his bidding now that he’d given him a bit of freedom, instead of locking him up in the castle just like what he’d used to do and forcing him to do things…

There was a difference between coercion, manipulation and free will, even if it did get the job done. Voldemort was surprised he enjoyed the boy’s willingness to do small things for him.

When green eyes opened with a golden hue around the iris, a voice resonated inside the Dark Lord’s head, and urged him to come closer.

Before he knew it, he was beside the boy who pressed his face on his hand and fell asleep again.

The Dark Lord blinked and considered putting up his barriers. With the increase of power came the need to train it, but for the years to come… this strength was necessary and all the more alluring.

In their world, it was difficult to find someone who could commune with magic in the purest way. A true conduit. Voldemort traced the boy’s body, content to listen to Harry’s heart.

  
  


_ It is not the mind that seeks _

_ It is not the heart that speaks _

_ It is not the soul that weeps _

_ For the body fades. _

_ The mind forgets. _

_ The soul is neither. _


End file.
